Short Stories

Story 3 - Wishes

{ Based on a prompt }

{ Wishes sat on the stale air, not going further than the truth. That the one I always wished to love was me, not you }

" hey, look at me " he gently moved my hands away from my face, wiping my tears with his thumb. He then kissed my cheek, smiling softly.

" everything is going to be okay"

Of course I believed him. When you've got the most gorgeous man in the world tellin' you life will go on, you're damn well gonna believe him. From that night on, I hung onto his every word, forgave him for every little thing. I was his little doll, his 'treasure'.

But what treasure is thrown away so easily?

What doll would you mark and brusie like that?

I was so blinded by love that I made ecuses for him. For the way he treated me.

' he does it out of love. he loves you' i told myself ' you're the one in the wrong'

As the years went on, I slowly became aware of the truth. How often he manipulated me , how I seemingly had no life without him.

I caught him cheating one night.

He had the gawl to bring her to our house. The idiotic courage to tell her he was singl;e. To tell her he was straight.

I waited patiently downstairs, watching from the hall closet as she left, jacket in one hand and heels in the other. The embraced. He gave her a familiar peck on the lips.

He promised they'd do this again next weekend.

Like hell I was gonna let that happen.

My love turned his back to her as she left, starting upstairs and yawning softly.

I followed silently,already deciding what I was going yo do. He had this routine, you see.

Eevery night after we had sex, he'd stand at the window, aked, and smoke a cigarette.

I noly remembered because of how many times I had to ask him to stop letting the cold air in. If I had a dollar for ever time I asked and got slapped, I'd be fucking rich right now.

Poor man didn't realize I was home. Didn't realize that I was sick of him.

It was all too simple.

I ran at him, using every ounce of strength I had to push him forward, straight out the window. I didn't even look, simply shutting the window and getting ready for bed.

I knew he was dead without checking. This was the 21st floor after all.

Even as they lead me to the chamber where I'll be executed, I feel no remorse. After all, I've finally started loving myself. I hardly even remember what the bastard looked like.

There's no need to think of the man you killed when you immediately plead guilty, now is there?

{critique is welcomed! }